


That Weird Sucking Stuff

by kateyboosh



Category: Taskmaster (UK TV) RPF, The Mighty Boosh RPF
Genre: And all things that are good, Crack, Flashbacks, Gratuitous descriptions of performing and completing assigned tasks, Hint: it does good things, I promise, Other, Siphoning and what it does to Noel, Sort Of, Visually arresting fur nuggets, it will make sense, just go with it, reminisces, shed sex, this is normal, wait, wanking, what?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 08:13:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27967370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kateyboosh/pseuds/kateyboosh
Summary: “Noel’s gonna have to do some of that weird sucking stuff that makes him feel a bit sick.” - Noel, Taskmaster, 2017Everything that could have happened after, complete with some fun reminisces in the Taskmaster shed.
Relationships: Noel Fielding/Other
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7
Collections: Trash Triplets Crackmas 2020: It's All About Range





	That Weird Sucking Stuff

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Terrantalen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Terrantalen/gifts).



> Hey, remember when I unsubtly and artlessly DM slid and was like, dude, top five favorite tasks, for no reason at all? Here is the reason. <3

Noel blames the siphoning.

Really, it’s a convenient scapegoat, that task. Yeah, he did some of that weird sucking stuff that makes him feel a bit sick, but really, secretly makes him feel very, very turned on, and that’s as good a reason as any for the extra bone he’s sporting underneath his skelly suit. 

Plus, he’s buzzing because he’s just had illegal chocolate, and he hopped like a flamingo the day before, and the day before that, he got to crack a pool cue with his heels. He’s always secretly wanted to do that, but it’s considered bad form if you’re just down the pub for a quiet drink in, snapping a pool cue like you’re the underdog antihero in an action movie.

Best to stick to dancing on the bar in heels instead.

Noel had never thought much about whacking a little Babybel cheese like he was one of those tossers out on the golf course, but doing that task made him think of golf courses and that made him think of the morning after their festival after staying up all night. And that made him think of taking pictures of Julian in the bath, and then getting in the bath with Julian, and then all the hazy, blurry, very pleasant, beard-burn type things that happened after. 

But mostly, he remembers the sight of the golfer's faces when the moon came out on the course along with the morning sun, as Julian strolled through one of the sprinklers buck naked except for his untied boots like a man out for a cheerful morning constitutional.

With all those thoughts swirling, when Alex tells him he can have a little break before the next task, Noel skips off to the shed. He'd meant to duck in there for the hide and seek task, but he'd gotten distracted, thinking about sheds and the things that were already in them, stakes and wheelbarrows and such, and he'd panicked a bit and tried to sneak about, and well, it wasn't his best moment during filming so far. 

His best moment during filming so far was _definitely_ eating Alex's beard hair. Of course he's had beard hair in his mouth before, but not to eat, specifically. It was a first for him. He likes firsts. They appeal to his sense of adventure, to his infinite curiosity. And right now, he's about to have his first full Taskmaster wank.

That time with the balloons where he did slip his pants off a bit under his cape in front of the cameras and the audience and the other contestants and Greg and Alex doesn't count.

Probably.

Noel pauses, his hand on the door to the shed.

He shrugs. Nah, it definitely didn’t.

It’s small inside but cute, and quite dark when he shuts the doors. There’s a nice set of shelves to his left, and mismatched wellies, a child’s plastic sand shovel, some buckets and a bowling ball greet him. There are traffic cones, stacks of chairs, and a ladder further back, and a couple of tennis rackets hung on hooks on the walls.

All in all, it’s not a bad place for a quiet wank. Masturbation is like meditation for him: it clears his mind and lets him concentrate on what he has to do next. It does make time spent with Russell actually trying to do meditation difficult. He inevitably giggles because he’s thinking about pulling himself off in the bath when he’s supposed to be concentrating on thinking about nothing at all, and then it throws Russ off, and then he giggles harder when Russ throws him a look in return, and, well. 

All he knows is he needs to clear his mind now if he’s going to have any luck concentrating on whatever the next task will be.

Noel unzips his skelly suit and his straining jeans and shimmies them down along with his pants. He breathes a sigh of relief when his cock springs loose. He grins down at it affectionately. Always an eager boy. 

They’ve had some great times together in some wild places with some wild people, but before Noel fades fully into a dissolving dream sequence complete with flashbacks and harp music, he wraps his hand around his dick and gives himself a good, solid pump that brings him straight back to reality.

It’s fantastic, the friction of his palm against the velvet of his cock everything he was hoping for, but he still flinches and yelps when the crinkly material of his skelly suit hits his bare arse. The suit's tight on his arms, so he drops his dick and flaps his shoulders to get the jumpsuit loose.

It sounds like he's standing in a magnified echo chamber shaking a shower curtain about and that won't do. This is his chance to do hide and seek over again, and to sneak in a cheeky wank to boot. He doesn't want to be discovered. 

At least not under these circumstances.

Probably.

Noel pauses, his hand hovering over his dick. 

Nah, definitely not. Not this time, anyway.

He wraps his hand back around himself and twists his wrist when he gets to the head of his cock and it feels so good to have stimulation again that he shifts his feet in the cramped darkness and knocks a bucket over. Noel freezes and squeezes his hand around his dick, but no one comes knocking after a few seconds, so he leans back against the wall and starts to wank in earnest. He slides a hand up under his t-shirt to ghost over his nipples and then he pinches one and rolls it between his fingers as he thumbs at his slit.

Something scratchy hanging on the wall tickles at the back of his neck as he moves to brace himself better. It reminds him of the last time he was in Julian's garden shed, blindfolded with the bandana Julian had hung out of his back pocket and tied up with a spare bit of garden hose. He’d squirmed around waiting for Julian to touch him and wiggled back far enough with his pants around his ankles that he fell into the scarecrow leaning up against the wall. He’d curled his body into its weight until Julian chuckled across the shed and said, "Nice try, Fielding, but I'm over here.”

As if Noel didn’t know.

"I know," he'd squeaked, turning around to face what he hoped was the right direction. "Just thought you'd like a bit of a show."

"You getting off with a dusty, mouse-chewed scarecrow counts as ‘a bit of a show?’"

Noel scoffed. It was hard to scoff with your main scoffing features covered with paisley print cloth, but he did his best to get his point across. At least his mouth was uncovered.

"You're the freak that's tied me up with garden hose for shed sex. Are you going to smack my arse with a shovel and fuck me over the workbench next?"

He’d heard Julian musing, even if he couldn’t see him through the blindfold, and he’d grinned.

Julian _had_ always been good at sifting through the million grains of sand of Noel's ideas to hone in on the treasure waiting to be discovered. He was awfully good at fucking him over a workbench, too, Noel found out. 

He never does get over that garden hose kink afterwards, though. It made that team task a bit awkward, him barreling into the courtyard with the hose spurting, willing his dick to stay down as Lolly and Joe flung tables and cling film about and they all watched Rome burn.

At least he had his trainers on for that one. Wouldn’t let him get them for the stupid “score a goal with a plastic shopping bag” task, though. He could have done that one really well with trainers, too.

His brow furrows and his mouth sets into a pout, and before he returns to his stroppy mood, he tries to refocus, cupping his balls with one hand and slicking his thumb over the head of his cock with the other til he goes weak kneed in his battered gold heels. 

He’s getting close, leaking steadily onto his hand and breathing hard when he hears a squeak that he knows he didn’t make. For a minute, he thinks one of the dogs from last week found its way back, looking for more sausage, and he clenches his teeth. He’s nearly there. He’s desperate enough to let his balls go from where he’s pulled them up around his shaft to pat at the crumpled pocket of his jeans, knowing full well he hasn’t tucked any spare bits of catering away for this phantom dog.

Just as he’s on the edge, a furry little creature goes scurrying across the shed floor. He giggles a breathy laugh when the chipmunk he’s scared out of hiding flings itself off the bowling ball onto the rung of a ladder and then out a little hole at the side of the shed, moving like a tiny stripey Tarzan.

The chipmunk’s not as big as Gizmo, or half as cute, but it makes him think of his last wank to _Gremlins_. The mum with the knife gets him going, and the jazz Gremlin reminds him of Julian, and anything that’s as visually arresting as that film is makes his cock twitch as hot and heavily as it does in his hand now.

It did make wearing his _Gremlins_ shirt afterward a little bit awkward, the good old _Gremlins_ wank. Made filming his live DVD particularly interesting.

Anyway, he's nearly done, his thighs tightening up as he braces himself. He points his toes and thinks of flamingos, bright colors, northern accents, huge hands all over his body and all the stubble burn he’s had over the years, and his own hand comes out of his hair just in time for him to bite it and muffle the happy sounds he makes when he comes.

When he’s come down enough, he wipes his hand clean with some old rags he finds tucked in one of the buckets he's knocked over, then tucks himself back in his jeans and ties his skelly suit around his waist.

Alex is in the courtyard standing stock-still when he comes back out of the shed. It doesn't look like he's moved a hair or even blinked. 

Maybe Greg told him he wasn't to. 

Without looking at his watch or his timer, Alex tells him, “Five minutes, Noel,” and he scurries inside to wash his hands, fix his fringe and his eyeliner, and text Julian links to a couple of nearby golf courses and a picture of some garden hose with just under ten x’s as a caption.

It's a bit awkward when he has to go back to the shed a few minutes after that for the bucket and the bowling ball, returning to the scene of the crime and all that. Dragging the hose back around is awkward too, especially when his dick makes a second quest for freedom against his worn-out zip, but it's all worth it in the end when he makes the biggest splash. 

**Author's Note:**

> Of course I wrote Shed Sex as a sequel, because you da bomb, Terrantalen.


End file.
